A bundle of confliction under her skin,
Nervous energy running like ants in her mind,
Knees jiggling, hands wriggling,
like a thousand worms crawling in the dust.
Only her face was serene, a porcelain mask of nothing,
no smile, no frown, no wrinkles to mar perfection.
So much effort to pretend to be
who she was not.
Good writing! When’s the book getting started?
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Never, I’m not that kind of writer. I’m just for the short haul.
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